


Nervous Flyer

by Cerrone



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 22:32:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13867380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerrone/pseuds/Cerrone
Summary: One-shot based off this prompt:You sat next to me on the airplane and fell asleep on my shoulder and I don’t want to move you cause you look so comfortable. Oh and you’re hot.





	Nervous Flyer

“Alright, move it Jenkins” Mr. Jackson’s voice cut through the hubbub of the women. Neither Ms. Miles or Governor Bennett had a commanding voice like he did. Working in a prison full of women with a shout like that was always going to be heard over any chatter or fight. Or in this case the anguished laments of Boomer as she tried to get into her seat. Bea looked at the man she had known for many years and regarded him. Mr. Jackson would very rarely lower his eyebrows in anger at the women, even when dealing with Boomer she could see the persistent optimism etched into his face. Above all else, he wanted to help the women. 

“It’s not my fault they make these stupid seats impossible to get into hey, how is anyone above a bloody size 10 supposed to fit in this shit?” Boomer was awkwardly wedged between two seats with a long line of impatient women stretching back behind her. She could see the craning necks of everyone on board looking in their direction to see what was going on. A few women called out from the end of the line, asking what was taking so long, in their own special Wentworth way. 

 

“Whose fat arse is blocking the aisle?” A voice from the back shouted. 

 

“Do you want me to come back there and bash you?” Boomer turned quickly, well as quickly as she could in her current situation, and pointed her finger sharply at the line of women, indistinctly.

 

Ahead of her Bea heard Liz chuckle in her familiar warm tone, “Thank goodness we’re not flying international, can you imagine her on a long haul flight?” 

 

Bea smiled to herself at the mental image of Boomer ungraciously navigating her way through an international airport.   
  


“Jenkins, watch it.” Mr. Jackson cautioned her sternly.

 

Eventually, and after a lot of huffing Boomer managed to sit down. The long line of women behind her mumbling, sighing, and shuffling on to find their own seats in the rows and rows of navy blue upholstered chairs. The plane looked like any other plane, really, except for a missing select few luxury items - the in-flight magazine and the complimentary headphones. Sunlight poured in through the windows illuminating the cabin. It wasn’t too bad. A change, at least, from the concrete grey and vinyl floor of Wentworth Correctional. She took her seat next to the window and looked out over the wing. The buses they’d been driven here in were waiting on the tarmac until their successful departure. In the seats ahead of her she could hear Liz and Doreen talking about living the good life, daydreaming of heading off to some tropical destination through a navigational error. It would be just her luck if the plane went down over the ocean and they were all marooned on an island. She wondered what the fight for top dog would be like on a tropical beach. The same old shit. At least she would be outdoors. 

 

Bea Smith was pulled out of her thoughts when someone sat down in the seat next to her. She was a young blonde woman, new to Wentworth in the past fortnight. Or was it the past month? She couldn’t remember. Bea had seen her around here and there. She was part of Kaz’s crew. Around them people were still navigating to their seats. The cabin was filled with the rustle of people getting settled. Screws stalked up and down the thin carpeted aisles counting the women as they sat down. Bea scoffed. They’d already had a count before leaving Wentworth, a count getting on the bus, a count getting off the bus, a count lining up for the plane, a count getting onto the plane and now, after all those prior successful counts where nobody went missing suddenly or tried to escape, they were having another count sitting in their seats. She smirked and chuckled quietly to herself, thinking of the likelihood that there was another count planned for the middle of the flight. As if someone was going to do a runner at 30,000ft. 

 

Beside her the young woman suddenly spoke, like she had heard Bea’s internal thought stream as easily as if she had said it aloud. “I know right, how many times are they going to count us. But it is fair enough, I did just hear one of the women saying she was going to climb out the bathroom window during take off and leg it to the nearest bottle-o.” 

 

Bea couldn’t suppress her laughter. She imagined a sweating, panting woman in teal walking into the local liquor store with no money and no ID and government-issue shoes on. A broad smile spread itself across her face as Bea watched the woman continue.   
  


“That was my reaction too, see I don’t even think she realises there’s no window in there.” 

 

Bea chuckled again as the woman turned to meet her gaze. She was younger than her, by a few years at least, with tanned smooth skin and hair the colour of wheat. Bea watched the woman’s deep, sea blue eyes flickering gently over her own features, between Bea’s watchful eyes and down to her mouth, and back up again. There was a still moment where they simply looked at each other. This blonde woman with a soft smile on her face.

 

“The name’s Allie Novak. I guess we’re sitting together.” The woman,  _ Allie _ , extended her hand toward Bea. 

 

Bea nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I guess so. Bea Smith.” 

The redhead looked down Allie’s hand for a moment before reaching out with her own and shaking it gently. She was surprised by how soft and smooth Allie’s skin was beneath her fingers, sometimes she forgot how harsh all those years of hairdressing had been on her hands. 

 

Now was not one of those times. 

 

“I- I know who you are, I’ve seen you around.” Allie’s gaze wandered nervously across the wall behind Bea’s head. She wasn’t quite sure about this woman’s character, having only spoken to her just the once just now, but it seemed unlike her to be shy. Bea imagined her as easy as a gentle breeze, happy and content with whatever life had sent her way. She wondered, then, what Allie had been sent to Wentworth for. If she really was with Kaz’s crew, there was a chance it was related to the Red Right Hand. Bea wasn’t sure what to say in return, she felt sorry, truthfully, that they had been imprisoned for following a cause attributed to everything she had done to avenge Debbie’s death. If she had the choice she would go back, do her time, keep her nose clean. She had wished it over and over again at least a thousand times. 

To take it all back and keep her little girl. 

 

“Do you think they’ll give us Frequent Flyer points for this? I mean, there’s got to be some benefit to shipping us all out of the state while they renovate that place after what happened. Why they couldn’t just send us to Walford and section off a few blocks for us I’ll never know. And what about a bus? Why couldn’t they just drive us over, it’s not like Adelaide is a totally different country. What, six? Seven hours? Tops.” 

Bea was happy for the distraction from her own dwelling thoughts, truth was that Debbie was never far from her mind anyways. It was unusual, and surprising, how chatty Allie was. She had to know Bea was  top dog by now, people were usually intimidated by her.    
  


Usually.   


Allie’s face cycled through a range of expressions as she spoke, Bea watched Allie’s eyebrows move up and down thoughtfully, she absentmindedly listened to the conversations going on around them. It was like an automatic reflex you gained when you earned the mantle of top dog.    
  
Mr. Jackson’s booming voice cut through her thoughts as it was forced out over all the aeroplane centered conversations happening around her. 

“Alright ladies, fasten your seatbelt and leave it on at all times. Do not get out of your seat, if you need to use the restroom please raise your hand and an officer will escort you. Do not cause trouble or you will be slotted-”

 

“Where are you going to slot us, the dunny?” A voice from the back of the plane called out, followed by a localised scattering of laughter from a few of the women.    
  
“That includes you too, Jenkins. As I was saying you will be slotted when we land. All officers have been equipped with emergency response items, we will not hesitate to use them. Do I make myself clear?” 

A quietened mumble swept over the seated women in the plane as they listened to his words. Bea’s eyes scanned down to his hip where a black and yellow striped gun with a lightning bolt symbol stuck onto its side with reflective tape hung.

A taser. Great. 

 

She sighed heavily and looked out the window, half listening to the sound of everyone buckling their seat belts obediently. It seemed strange to her that you’re strapped into a car seat with the belt across the chest, but for planes it’s just the flimsy strap across the hips. She supposed there wasn’t much that could really save you. 

If you’re going down, you’re going down.    
  


Bea glanced to the side ever so slightly, noticing the lull in conversation from her new neighbour and saw Allie sitting with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her fingers flexing and squeezing themselves. Her knuckles turning white. She was a nervous flyer. Bea felt oddly compelled to comfort her, to say something reassuring. She wasn’t sure why. Allie was young, maybe that was it? Hell, turbulent flights had nothing on the day-to-day of Wentworth. Bea supposed that was why Allie was with Kaz, someone to keep her safe. 

 

She opened her mouth to say something encouraging but as she did the plane shuddered into motion. Ahead of her Bea saw the heads of the other women bob and sway as the wheels beneath them rolled over bumps and cracks in the runway. Beside her Allie seemed to have stilled in her seat. Bea turns to her, slowly, not wanting to be too obvious, and sees the blonde woman with her eyes closed, head leaned back against the headrest. Her chest rising and falling steadily as the hands held firmly in her lap tremble. 

 

Bea felt safe, somehow, next to her. It wasn’t a safety from any sort of danger - especially with the screws patrolling fully equipped with tasers and everyone strapped into their seats, but safety from who she was expected to be. Who she needed to be in order to survive. Even in her own cell with the door closed, in the middle of the night, with the prison on full lock down, it was  _ still _ possible even then for someone to burst in with news about how a woman in one of the other blocks had OD’d on heroin and she would be thrown head first into a full on witch hunt until the source of the gear was found. But Mr. Jackson had made it clear. 

No one was allowed to leave their seats. No one was allowed to come and ask her for anything. 

No favours. No complaints. 

Nothing.    
  


She took a deep breath in as the plane engines began to whirr into life, exhaling as the gigantic machine began moving down the runway faster and faster with her whole conceivable universe on board. Wentworth had become her life. She looked out the window as the ground fell away from her, growing impossibly small. Right now, in this plane, she was nobody. As long as she kept looking out the window and spectating the endless landscape rolling by like waves beneath her, she was nobody. 

It was nice. 

 

The flight went on without any major incident. The women sat talking excitedly about what their new cells would be like, what the food would be like, or how soon they could get their hands on any gear - if they were so inclined. Beside her Allie sat still in the same position, though her hands were now loosely threaded together and her breathing came slower.  _ Asleep. _

Bea allowed herself to look her over more closely, observing the pattern of barely visible freckles on her skin. Her eyes drifted lower to Allie’s mouth. Her lips were slightly parted in sleep and Bea felt herself blush. Quickly she turned away from the sleeping woman. Her heart beating a little faster and her face feeling uncomfortable and hot. She would spend the rest of the flight looking out the window, focusing on and internalising the distant red landscape she may never see again in her life. Her eyes washed over the endless earth before her, her ears filled with the mechanical white noise of the plane engines, and every so often she would hear a deep breath rain out of the parted lips beside her. 

 

Clouds began to swirl around the wings of the plane. The cabin bounced from side to side rhythmically causing Mr. Jackson to steady himself against the wall he had been leaning on for some time. Bea could feel her body rocking in her seat and looked out over the heads of all the women who were rocking back and forth too. Suddenly she felt a weight on her shoulder, and she turned quickly to see what it was.    
  
Allie.   
  
In all the turbulence her head had lulled to the side and the rest of her body followed the heavy weight. Her head now rested gently on Bea’s shoulder. She could see the long toned muscles of Allie’s neck where her hair had fallen away there revealing more soft, tanned skin. As the blonde woman breathed slowly her warm breath cascaded over Bea’s arms and pooled in her lap. Her skin blossomed in wave after wave of prickly goosebumps. In a soft and private gesture, Allie in her dormant state, turned her body and wrapped her arm around Bea’s. The thin digits were exceptionally warm, and soft. Bea’s heart pounded in her chest as she drew in deep and shaky breaths. She sat as still as she could trying to control the movements of her torso to keep Allie’s head from moving too much - lest she wake up. Bea wanted to stay like this. With Allie. It was  _ nice. _ Totally unlike anything she’d had before. So different from anything inside Wentworth, and so different from anything she had ever had with Harry. He was so rough. His hands were so rough. Allie was tender and  _ soft. _ And  _ warm. _ Her frame much smaller than his. There was a precious rarity to it. Bea would sit still, looking out the window and watching the landscape below glide by. Curled against her side with strands of wheat coloured hair falling across her face was Allie. 

Bea thought she was beautiful. 

It was nice. 

 


End file.
